


you were always so lost in the dark

by sultrygoblin



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cheating, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, I Hope This Is Okay, I don't know what I'm doing, Infidelity, Oh god oh god oh god, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22876093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: series - it ends or it doesn’t. that’s what you say. that’s how you get through it. the tunnel, the night, the pain, the love. it ends or it doesn’t. if the sun never comes up, you find a way to live without it. if they don’t come back, you sleep in the middle of the bed, learn how to make enough coffee for yourself alone. adapt. adjust. it ends or it doesn’t. it ends or it doesn’t. we do not perish.”
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead)/Original Female Character(s), Negan's Wife Lucille (Walking Dead: Here's Negan)/Negan (Walking Dead), Negan/Negan's Wives (Walking Dead)
Kudos: 8





	1. and i haven’t felt so alive in years

**Author's Note:**

> alright, this really got away from me, i think think this is the longest thing i’ve written for my blog this is the first part of a four part series. that will no doubt snowball into more things! i am writing this for @trashmenofmarvel‘s 2k trash party dialouge prompt; “you sure you wanna do that kid?” and i’m so thankful for the chance to take part in this.  
> Caitlyn Siehl wrote the summary quote  
> negan might be a little ooc, i dunno. this is like my first big thing and i live in fear....

“Well, hello there, kid.”

It's been years, enough years to pretend like she'd forgotten about it. To push down the hurt and move forward. If she had to be honest, the world coming to an end might've been the best thing that had happened to her in a long while. Her dead mom, shitty dad, ungrateful brothers, and most of all the one and only man she'd fallen in love with didn't matter when the dead were everywhere. Most of the time, enough of the time to get by not quite happy but not unhappy about it. All that hinged on him never sauntering back into her life, she didn't have to look to know Negan is sauntering towards her right now. She could stand there, back turned, see how flirty he gets and then turn, but for that to work she'd have to be at least half as important to him as he was to her. And she didn't want to count on that. All there is to do is turn around.

“Aw fuck,” she can't help the words, they just slip out when she finally sees him not ready for everything that came with it.

It's like seeing her for the first time all over again. His heart pounds, his jeans tighten, and that little voice in the back of his head tells him that he's in a fuck ton of trouble. Harley-Jane is chaos, pure unfettered chaos, the kind of woman that happens when the universe tries it's hardest to fuck a girl over and she just won't put up with it's shit. The end of the world didn't seem to change that. She's got that backpack slung on her shoulder, or what's left of it, and a little red wagon she's managed to extend the handle on covered with a big piece of canvas and wooden slats building the sides up higher. She's got a white knuckled grip on the handle.

“Well, hello there, stranger,” grinning because he just can't help it, because it's absofuckinglutely perfect, isn't it?

Her eyes squeezed shut tightly and she shook her head, “Down we go,” was the only thing she managed to get out before her body went down like a sack of potatoes

He barely managed to catch her, at least her head hadn't collided with the street, his arm around her waist, “Come get this shit,” tossing Lucille on top of the cart, hoisting her over his shoulder, as Simon yanked off her backpack, “You get this done while I deal with the little missus.”

He didn't wait, didn't need the questions, just moved fast towards the truck, setting her gently in the passengers seat and buckling her in, making sure to lock the seat belt. Just in case. He climbs into the drivers seat, getting it on after the second try and shifting into gear. They were on the road in no time. It felt familiar, like when they'd gone to the coast and she'd fallen asleep just like she seemed to be now. Except she wasn't asleep, she was unconscious, he'd knocked her out from yards away. He'd have to remember to gloat about it later, when she let him poke and prod at her like he used to.

 _If_ she let him poke and prod her like he used to.

*****

It was just a bar, no where fancy, and that's exactly why his wife hated it. He went there when she was off at book club, girl's night, working late. In all honesty he was there most nights but not normally for long, just pregaming till he hits somewhere else for someone else. Don't shit where you eat was a good rule for many things but especially the act of infidelity. If only he had known how it would do _absolutely_ nothing in the end, to be fair no one could have predicted exactly how it would all go down. All he knew when he walked in was that Larry, the newest in a series of bad bartenders, was gone replaced by none other than Harley-Jane, back from the big bad city.

And that's exactly what he said when she poured him a drink, everyone looked at him like he'd just kicked a puppy.

“What'd I say?” she just laughed and shook her head, “What?”

“You know that big accident. Happened out off the 20,” he nodded, sipping his whiskey while she poured herself a shot, “Bunch a dumb drunk kids hit the car. Momma didn't make it,” she threw it back, tossing the glass in the bin under the counter, “Daddy's not good, drinking himself stupid every night. Someone's gotta take care of the boys, right?”

He knows them both, Will better than Buck. He's 17 and runs track, he's really good. It's he started coaching him after all. He had never connected the two, Harley-Jane had never been one of the sports kids and he'd only know her passively from a few gym classes that she managed to attend. Buck is another story, he knows him mostly by rumour. He's 14, a freshman, and in more trouble than most seniors. A big angry kid with big angry problems.

“That's tough, kid.”

He stuck around, he shouldn't have but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. Every one seemed to treat her like glass, he didn't, and she liked that. She wanted that and it was enough to keep him around. At least for the night. Harley-Jane laughed at his jokes, not because she was supposed, but because she got them. And when the night ended and last call was over, she didn't sidle up to him with breath reeking of vodka and wanting to take him home. She wasn't that kinda gal, there was something to say about that, she didn't hang all over him, somehow getting off on the fact he was married. Girls like that had their moments, they really did. But nothing like this.

“At least let me walk you to your car,” leaning next to the door as she locked up for the night.

She scoffed, fits on her hip, “Aren't you married?”

He shrugged, “So that means I can't walk you to your car?” he chuckled, “You certainly have a high opinion of yourself, baby,” he doesn't catch the slip in time to stop and she's too clever not to hear it.

She arches her eye brows and rolls her eyes with something almost like a laugh, “Alright, before I change my mind though.”

It's quiet, for the first time, in a long time he doesn't know what to say. Just listening to their feet on the concrete echoing at 3 am as they walked down the block and around the corner. She stops at an indigo Saturn, because of course she would have an indigo Saturn. For some reason it makes him laugh harder than it should and she responds like any normal person, with confusion.

“Nothing, nothing, just,” he shook his head, “One of those unexplainable things.”

She clicked her tongue, “Gotcha,” shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, partially for her keys and partially for warmth, “You want a ride?” bouncing on one leg just slightly and awkwardly, “Not like- you've been drinking and-”

“Say no more.”

She drives him home without direction, he should ask how she knows but small towns are easy to navigate. Only so many places to go. The lights are on and he wishes her a good night, letting her know he'd be happy to talk to Will if she needs. She seems genuine when she thanks him, shooting back a sweet dreams and driving off into the night.

“Was that little Harley-Jane?” she asked, seeming more concerned with looking out the window at the retreating car than her arriving husband, “That poor girl.”

For some reason it annoys him, he grumbles he's tired and heads off to bed. She says something about working late. She always says something about working late. It doesn't matter, she'd pissed him off but why. _That poor girl_ , because that would've pissed little miss Harley-Jean off.

*****

She looks at him, eyes no longer wavering. Life hasn't been easy, not since it started, and if he had to guess it hadn't been much easier for her before. But she's too proud to speak first, choosing to lean forward and yank her backpack across the table. The rest of her haul hasn't been added to stock yet but most of it will make it there, they both know that. But he let's her keep the bag, if only because he recognizes it. It's tattered, patched up with all manner of pilfered fabric and isn't much of what it was before, nothing is anymore. He recognizes the shape and remembers the tough canvas thing it has once been. Back when it held school books and was decorated with pins. Now it stores papers that she doesn't completely pull from the bag, just enough to move around them. He's sure she's going for smokes, if anyone could be flush with them in this hellscape it would be Harley-Jane. She doesn't look at him, yanking matches from the back pocket and puffing on the strangely rolled thing like it there was no tomorrow. It is not a cigarette, it's much more fun than that. He leans against the counter, arms across his chest, staring her down.

It used to unnerve her, he could push her into talking first. Blurting out something she hadn't meant to say, at least not yet and with less poetry. 7 years mixed with an apocalypse changes people, he should've guessed that. It's been a long time since Negan had been able to dip his toe in that part of his past and now it was living, breathing, and had done a great imitation of wine by getting even better with age. She'd ditched the short hair for a longer more sophisticated look, she looked stronger, not skinny but lean with muscle. She could probably outrun him and all his men if she really wanted to, if she tried hard enough. And she just might if he played too rough, delicate situations called for a softness he wasn't quite sure he knew how to muster up enough to fool her, she wasn't a doe eyed groupie, wasn't a woman who just couldn't wait to be his wife. She _knew_ him, and that was dangerous.

She looks at him, a faint smirk twitching the corner of her lips and a raised eyebrow, before taking a long inhale, holding, and exhaling slowly.

“Sure you wanna do that, kid?” it's all he can come up with, but it's enough to break the ice, “You look good.”

She leans back in her chair, pointing at him, “Ruggedly handsome, as always,” the lightest twitch of a wink, something left behind that she can't quite hide, “Looks like you're enjoying being King of the Castle.”

“You know me,” setting Lucille down gently and leaning her back against the cupboard door beside his leg, “Looks like you've done pretty good yourself.”

She shrugs, puffing out little o's of smoke, “I'm good at leaving, learned from the best after all,” it's a cheap shot but he'll take it without a thought, he owes her a few and she seems to be wasting no time in cashing them in, “And leaving keeps you alive.”

“Out there maybe,” he exhales, rubbing the back of her neck, “You can stay here, long as you want, long as you need,” his voice serious, pointed, this is the part of their lives that aren't a game anymore. Life and death wasn't an analogy anymore, “Frankie'll help you get some clothes, a room, place to get cleaned up.”

“Frankie, huh?” clicking her tongue, “And she's wife number...?”

 _Fuck,_ a couple of hours, she'd been here five fucking hours, only two of them awake, before he'd gotten the chance to talk to her. And she'd been locked in a room till Dwight had brought her here. She didn't just _hear_ that, someone told her. He narrowed his eyes at her, there was no way he was getting it out of her. At least not now.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” he shot back, his face sliding so easily back to jovial, “Now, you gonna be a bitch about it or you gonna say thank you and take advantage of my kindness.”

She rolled her eyes upward, mouthing to herself as if she were weighing the options before looking back at him, “I'm _pretty sure_ I can do both,” stubbing the joint out on the table and climbing to her feet, leaving nothing but scorch marks in her wake.

****

He didn't know why he hadn't trusted her. The cabin was _literally_ in the middle of no where. 5 hours away, in the woods, there wasn't even a front desk. Just a code to get the key by the front door. She was careful in a way he had never thought to be before, though to be fair, before there weren't feelings. Just pussy. Negan didn't get much time to muse on the thought, the door opening to her smiling face, music in the background and a drink in her hand. It doesn't feel like they're doing something wrong, like they've picked this place because no one worth anything will see them, just a couple gone away for a weekend.

“You weren't kidding when you said you were setting up,” hurrying in from the cold, dropping the bag on his floor and dumping his jacket, eager to take in the heat that had clearly been on for a while.

An old timey record player stood in the corner, it's Frank Sinatra. He should call her cheesy, poke fun at her. But she's swaying in nothing but a shirt of his she'd managed to squirrel away and some sock, he really doesn't want to waste time that way. He can make fun of her anytime, he can't feel like her partner and not something dirty any other time.

“You gonna ask me to dance or what?” she asked, setting her drink down on the mantle over a not too shabby fire.

“Oh I have to ask now?” raising his eyebrows and toeing off his shoes, “Oh mistress mine-”

“Oh gross, do not quote my theater performances,” shaking her head as she scrunched her face up. He knows her well enough to know she's happy he remembers but she'll never say shit about it, “ _Fine._ Negan,” holding a dainty hand out to him palm up, “May I have this dance?”

He scoops her up, arms tight around her waist, swaying gently to the music. She's not great at, stepping on his feet more than a few times but she gets the hang of it pretty quickly. For hours, they sway back and forth, snow falling in droves outside as if it too was helping them escape the real world, back and forth in each others arms long after the record had stopped.

“I love you,” he's surprised to hear his voice, he hadn't thought it, hadn't even considered it, but he wasn't sorry. He definitely didn't want to take it back.

She pulled back, as if she wanted to be anywhere else but in his arms, “Negan,” but he wasn't letting go and she sighed, “I'm already yours,” she looks angry, so angry. It would've been hot any other time, “Don't say it because-”

“I seem like the type of person to just tell you what you wanna hear, kid?” she knows he's serious, he only says kid when he's serious or he's trying to break the ice. It's one of the million things she just knows about him.

“I love you too,” he can almost see the weight lifted off her shoulders, he'd never noticed it before and now he couldn't help but wonder how, “I don't know if that's good in our situation.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, “Me neither,” tightening his grip and feeling her arms slide around his neck once again, gripping tightly, “But not tonight, alright?”

She nodded, sniffling a bit, trying to hold everything back, “Make me a drink?”

“Whatever you want,” pressing a quick kiss to her lips and then each eyelid, before releasing her.

She's not sly, wiping her eyes as she moves back towards the record player. She can't help thinking about it right now, he would have to do something about that. Depeche Mode, quite a genre shift. He's never had any particular feeling on their music one way or the other. But it was important to her.

 _Whatever you want_ , he was going to regret those words one day, he knew, he just couldn't bring himself to worry about it.

*****

None of them were her, it's exactly what he thought would happen, and he's pissed beyond imagining. It's not that he can't perform, that would never be an issue he struggled with, but he just didn't care enough. He didn't want to try, didn't want to look at any of them, it just wasn't the same. It wasn't what he wanted. He did his husbandly duty, he didn't need rumor getting around about him but it was just motions. And Harley-Jane knew, _she fucking knew_. There was no reason for that shit eating smirk with both her brows raised as she leaned back against the wall, puffing far too casually on a joint, other hand in her back pocket. She never stuck around, not long enough for him to get too while everyone suddenly seemed to need his attention. By the time he made it across whatever way he was trying to get through she'd be gone. It was all on purpose, he knew it, fucking punishment. And he couldn't say he didn't deserve it. He'd just missed her so fucking bad and he hadn't realized it till he was staring her in the face. Lucille might've been his dirty, thirsty girl that's how she had played him there at the end after all. But Harley-Jane was a ghost, following him around, always just out of sight and flying into view every time it was just so inconvenient. At least there was something he could do about it now.

And he intended too. It was early evening, no reason she shouldn't be in her room and he was not disappointed when she opened the door after his heavy knock. She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh but still stepped back, opening the door wide with an outstretched arm. She'd covered the hardwood with assorted carpeting and fabric she'd managed to scavenge together and it took all the menace out of wearing asskicking boots.

“Haven't gotten to talk to ya since our first little chat,” he finally said when he heard the thunk of the door sliding into it's frame behind him.

He heard her scoff and he couldn't help but turn, she's got that look on her face, the one that says she knows what he's saying is bullshit, “So, just checking up on me?” hands on her hips, eye brow arched. She's calling his bluff and he wasn't in the mood to gamble.

“What do I gotta do, baby?” he can't keep the bite out of his voice or wipe the smile off his face, the closest to begging she's going to get from him.

She thinks otherwise, “For fucks sake,” rolling her eyes and stepping around him towards the kitchen, fishing a bottled water out of a cooler tucked in the corner, “I didn't want to share with one wife, what makes you think I'm gonna fight for scraps,” she sounded truly offended.

“You,” he pointed at her, laughing just a bit, “You know that's not what I meant,” _the audacity!_

“Oh, I know what you meant,” twisting the cap off and taking a long chug, before slamming it on the table, “Just because it's the end of the world doesn't mean I don't have options,” she was ready to fight now.

That jealousy flared in his stomach, he knows it well. It's that same hurt when he saw her pressed up against the alley wall behind Buddy's with some young, dumb fuckboy. But this isn't then, this is now. And now he can fucking do something about it.

“You better not have options,” finally offered the chance at an intimidating thud by setting Lucille on the counter, he didn't miss the flinch, “Honey can tell you what happens when there's options.”

There's that scoff, just a little exhale of air that never failed to piss him off, “I'm not your wife, sweetheart. And as long as that word is a plural noun, we aren't shit,” she's squared up, gaze pointed, muscles tense, she really thinks she means it.

His grin widens, biting his lower lip, yanking the glove of his hand slowly, “We aren't shit, huh?” he steps towards her, she takes a deep breath, puffing herself up. Prey making itself bigger so whatever was trying to eat them scampered off. Negan wasn't the kind of man who scampered, “Way I remember it-”

“Don't,” it was her turn to point at him, “Don't you dare,” the next step pressed the tip of her finger into the center of his chest.

“Then fucking what?” he shouldn't put the onus on her, this had been his idea to come here, to offer some olive branch and maybe get a little something-something.

She dropped her hand, using the other to push her hair back over the crown of her head, “I don't have anymore answers than you. I don't know how we do this,” she's working hard to keep her breathing even.

He grabs her around the waist, yanking her close, it's instinct to comfort her and he's already done it before he realizes what's going on, “Don't think so much,” echoing her own words from the past.

“I wish I could,” she wants to touch him, she can't bring herself to, “You can't do this to me, Negan, not again.”

Not yet, “You want it. You want it. Just-”

“Goddammit,” she pushes on his chest, he holds her tighter, “I'm not fucking do this, I'm not young, dumb, and full of cum anymore, alright?” when she pushes again, he stumbles back, “You really thought someone wouldn't tell me? Shooting your tongue off at Buddy's and you thought no one would tell me?” she picks Lucille up, holding it out to him, “Choose Lucille like always and leave me the fuck alone, alright?”

***************

They'd fought for hours, he remembered every second just as vividly as he remembered everything that happened with Lucille after he'd put an end to it. That was why they had been fighting after all, he had to end it. Now. Not in a week or two, or sometime in the future. If he didn't do it right then it was never going to happen. She'd break him down and he'd never do it, if he was going to live with himself he had to do it. By the end there wasn't any fight left in her anymore. She just laid on the bed, broken, empty, and as much as he never wanted her to feel that way, no matter how hard he wanted to fix it, he couldn't. Negan had to walk away.

She took a long deep breath, he expects her to yell but she doesn't, “It doesn't matter,” lolling her head to look at him, “Nothing _really_ matters,” there's nothing in her eyes, just a shell, he leans forward. Not to touch her but hoping it might offer some comfort, that he wanted to help, “You should go,” snapping her gaze back to the ceiling, he opened his mouth, “ _Goodbye_ ,” it's through gritted teeth, he won't get another warning.

That was how they had left it. Not with a roar but with a whisper.

He'd gone driving around, trying to get her voice out of his head and build up the courage to go home and tell Lucille he'd ended it without his voice shaking and sounding like a complete bullshitter. He swore to himself he'd only have one drink, but one turned into two, then four, and then everything had gone a bit fuzzy. Greg and Don had showed up at some point, asking how he was with wink-winks and nudge-nudges and he told them over a shot and a beer that he'd ended it.

“You don't leave your wife for a girl like that,” he'd never forget saying it, he still didn't know why he had, but he had, “You know, young, dumb and full of cum.”

He should've known, those guys couldn't keep their mouths shut if you stapled their lips together, one conversation and he'd fucked his life more than he could have imagined. He should've just gone home. No, he should've turned around, apologized and spent the whole night making it up to her. Instead he'd spent the night drinking, insulting her, and sleeping in his car till he drug his ass home at the crack of dawn reeking of whiskey and sweat, but not her. He's sure it's the only reason his wife had believed him when he swore up and down he broke it off. That it was him and her, he'd do anything to make it up to her. He'd meant it, he really had, but if he'd known then what he knew now, maybe he wouldn't have.

Lucille never let it go, especially at the end. He could've left, he should've left, but he wasn't the guy he was now, not yet. Just a sprout of what he'd eventually become, he did have her to thank for that. Harley-Jane was probably dead, she was dead, there wasn't anything else worth caring or worrying about than staying alive. Than building Sanctuary. Wasn't nothing more important than the little world he'd created for himself in the shit and the muck.

He could go find one of his wives, she'd sent him away with an emotional donkey punch to the nuts she shouldn't expect any less. He knows it. It was one of the benefits to be reaped for all his work. He doesn't, carrying a wooden chair from one of the empty rooms down the hall and setting it across the hall from her door. Negan didn't know what he could do, but he'd sit here till he figured it out or she went completely postal on him. Whichever came first. He'd lost her to many times already and he wasn't gonna let it happen again. Not if he had any say in it and he had the only say. She was in his world, she'd always been in it but now, it was different. But she isn't that girl anymore, she isn't like his wives, she isn't like Regina, Arat, or Laura. She's something else, some before, a bit now, and a little bit after, wen their paper empires fell, Harley-Jane would just keep trucking on.


	2. i'm struggling to exist with you and without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan has all day to sit around and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i will admit this is lightly edited. i hope it was worth the wait.

Harley-Jane knew he hadn't walked away if only because he'd made a huge ruckus of dragging the wooden chair across the floor even as it squeaked and throwing it against the wall just across from her door. Of course he would, she couldn't help the laughter that began to bubble in her throat, she should've known better than thinking he would just walk away and leave her alone. That would just be too easy and nothing with Negan had ever been easy. Not her strange, embarrassing crush in high school, not their equally strange relationship and now...well this had to take the cake, didn't it? A week ago she'd been escaping from what she was sure was going to turn into some sex dungeon sort of situation into...

Into what exactly? “Fuck,” growling low in her throat as she threw herself back on the cot. How did he still manage to do this? How could he make her rethink every logical thought that was inside her head? She can't help flailing, the urge to shriek only battered by the want to deny him the satisfaction, but she still flailed, as if the poor man's tantrum would do anything to make herself feel better.

****

The Saturn had broken down and would be in the shop anywhere from five to seven days, Tommy hadn't wanted to make any promise. Especially since they'd have to order the parts in special. It wasn't made to go back and forth from work – often dropping him off along the way- school pick ups and drop offs, grocery runs, the works. It was a beater car for a barely scraping by person in their 20's, that's why Harley-Jean owned it. He couldn't help chuckling overhearing her explain to Buddy why she was almost an hour late to a job she almost always arrived early to. She gets a moment to clean herself up, getting rid of the sweat and the carefully done make up she so often wore. Running cool water through it yanked the product from it and she'd abandoned her over shirt to cool down while she worked in a tank top.

It all changed then didn't it? What shit she was willing to put up with so her brothers could have something close to a normal life. He finishes his drink and waves her over. She smiles, happy to see a friendly face on this shit show of a day.

“Usual,” he says before she can ask, watching her move quickly and thump it on the table in front of him, “I can start dropping Will off after practice if that'll help, take him to the meet this weekend.”

She couldn't have been stoic if she wanted, she looks so fucking grateful and it makes his heart beat faster, “That would help a lot,” placing her palms flat on the bar, “Seriously, thanks.”

He stops drinking after that one, ordering food, something he hadn't done since he'd been single. There hadn't been a reason to stick around before. It's Sunday night football, she loses track of him in the chaos but he doesn't lose track of her. She's got a killer customer service smile and took the lewdest comments like a champ. Negan couldn't stop himself from wondering if there was anything he could say that might make her stutter and her cheeks flush. And he shouldn't, he really shouldn't.

He meets her outside the door with a copy of his tab like he was on trial and no evidence meant she would walk away, “Let me drive you home?”

It's a dangerous question, she knows it. He's looking at her with that look she'd spent far too much of her teenage years daydreaming about, imagining- and she should say no. She knows it, “Sure,” slipping keys in her pocket.

He gets to park much closer being a customer and all, even if he finds himself there just as often now. If he was lucky Lucille would think he had a drinking problem. Or did she already think that? It was hard to keep track sometimes. It's just a minute into the lot and he even opens the passenger door for her. It's chilly when the car starts, they sit there in silence, breath heavy. Both very aware of how large the clouds from them were. She's trying not to let her teeth chatter, he cranks the heat and it blows straight at her. It's a losing battle at that point and she can feel shivers start, the heat should start soon. She just has to hold out.

He yanks a spare jacket from the back seat, handing it to her, and watching far to intently as she pulled the school sweatshirt on and drowned in it. She held her arm up, giggling lightly at how far the sleeve hung past her finger tips.

“I still can't believe you're that tiny,” he chuckles, the air starts to warm and he releases the emergency break, “You got a fucking attitude 8 feet tall.”

“The smaller you are the bitchier you,” she states, matter of fact as she presses her covered hands against the vents on the dashboard, “Scientific fact.”

“I'll take your word for it,” pulling out of the lot and making their way towards home.

It's not far but far enough that he'd have worried if she'd walked it home. He's driven Will home once or twice before, he's not proud to admit he's driven by more than a few times recently. Mostly checking up he says, but it's a damn lie and he knows it. The drive is oddly silent, she's trying to figure everything out. How is she going to make it work? He should keep his mouth shut, but he can't. Whether he wanted to admit it or not Harley-Jane made him a weak, weak man, and that was something far beyond dangerous.

“Take my number” he finally says as they pull to a stop in front of her house, “Lucille's always telling me I should be nicer to people. You can give me a call if you need a ride to the store or something,” she opens her mouth. He knows what she's going to say, “Wasn't a fucking question, kid.”

She does. He only lets up the lock after she promises to call him if she needs something, day or night. He watches her head in the run down house, sweatshirt skating her knees. He barely makes it down the block before turning off, shutting the car off and throwing himself back in his seat. Hands rubbing across his face as he made a low noise in his throat, not quite a groan, not quite a growl. This was worse than anything else before.

If he did this, it wasn't just cheating. It was an affair. It was risky, he shouldn't even be thinking about it in the first place. But it's the only explanation isn't it? Why he'd stopped making his way to bimbo bait, as he had once so gleefully called them. It's why he drank just enough most nights that she had to drive him home. It's why he was doing any of this. He was already doing that wasn't he though? They hadn't done anything, he didn't even know how she felt - _liar!-_ but it already felt like an affair.

He gets in late, she's asleep in the guest room. Or at least pretending to be. Either way it isn't his fucking business. He offers a halfhearted goodnight before making his way back downstairs for a few more drinks.

*****

Because she made him weak. She'd always made him so fucking weak and he had no idea why. He couldn't take that knowledge away from her and deep down he knew he could never prove her wrong. That was why he was sitting here, outside her door, waiting for her to be done with her fucking tantrum so they could talk grown ups. It's why he's not balls deep in Frankie or Tanya because she'd never listen to him. Stubborn little bitch, always had been.

“Why ya doing this?” Simon asks before leaving to, by proxy, carry out their leaders wishes, “You got Frankie, Tanya-”

“I know what I got!” his voice raised, face calm, “And I don't remember this being any of your fucking business.”

They always scurry of in the end, fear or respect, didn't matter to him. It yielded the same results. Unless you were Harley-Jane.

“I'm not leaving any time soon, kid,” he shouts, all too aware of the fact she would've heard the conversation with his second in command.

She knows that. She knows him. Negan's always so sure he can turn any no she gives him into a yes. And he's right, she hates that it's been six fucking years and he still seems to have some sort of hold over her. She'd blamed it on daddy issues, emotional masochism, once or twice thinking maybe she was just a horrible person. And maybe it was all those things, _maybe_ , but it wasn't why. It's because she loves him, even after he ripped out her out. It's because she wants to say yes no matter how much she doesn't want to share.

She rolls onto her stomach, shoving her face into the pillow, hoping the thin thing is just thick enough to cover her scream. It muffles it but it by no means silences it, his own muted chuckle through the door rips another from her throat. She should just climb out the window, just run, that would be the sane thing to do. But she can't will herself up. She can't bring herself to leave. She never makes good decisions when Negan was involved and, of course, even an apocalypse couldn't change that.

*****

The next day he and Lucille have a barbecue with neighbors. She's proudly talking about how he's helping the family of a less fortunate student and he brushed it off, choosing to focus on the grill. It won't stay sunny for much longer and they've still got a few entrees to go. Mostly because it's a blatant lie and he doesn't feel like keeping up with it. It's got nothing to do with Will and he worries she's going to figure that out far too quickly. There's only so much willful ignorance in a person. He doesn't hear from Harley-Jane, he doesn't stop by the bar. His wife has had a few drinks and wants his attention. He gives it, it's what a husband does. But it's like always, he can't get his mind into it, letting his body do what it knew how to do so well and letting his mind swirl. He sleeps like a rock and wakes to an empty bed, it was for the best.

He drives Will home after school this day. The boy stopped by his office wit his backpack saying his sister had mentioned it.

“Buck need a ride?” the boy shakes his head of shaggy brown hair, “Alright. Well, gimme a minute to finish up here.”

They walk to the car talking about the normal stuff. His classes, track, how stuff is at home. He's trying to get information from him, there's a little guilt there until his sister's name slips off his tongue as they pulled out of the school lot.

“What about her?” shooting a quick glance across the console, he's got his eyes turned out the window.

“I feel bad,” he sighs, leaning back in the seat, “Dad's just disappeared and Buck's always in trouble. She says not to worry but,” he shakes his head, “I shouldn't go airing out our dirty laundry.”

“Everyone needs someone to talk to,” it's selfish but was it really if it helped the kid out? “You don't gotta talk to me now. But when you want to, just let me know.”

“Thanks, Coach,” the rest of the ride is spent in silence.

Will is barely out the passenger door when she comes running down the front porch steps, she's barely put together. She's managed to get jeans and a tank top on, but her hairs still wet and she's wearing a ridiculous pair of Marvin the Martian slippers.

“Pop-pop's on the phone, go say hi,” grabbing the backpack he flung at her as he raced into the house, “He better be in the Olympics,” grasping the edge of the door and making to close it.

“Hold on,” watching her bend down to look at him, “You need anything?”

She swallows hard, she's got an answer to that question, but it's not the right kind, “Between me and Thing 1, I'm sure we can carry back-”

He shuts off the car, unbuckling his seat belt, “You can be as stubborn as you want about this. But I'm helping out, whether you fucking like it or not,” unfolding himself from the vehicle, slamming the door hard enough to make her jump up straight, “Now, you need anything?”

She crosses her arms, watching him walk around the car, staring her down till he was standing just a few inches away. She rolled her eyes, “I gotta finish getting ready,” nudging the door closed with her hip, “We need groceries.”

“I got nowhere to be, kid.”

Will's set down the phone and half way up the stairs by the time they step inside. Buck's in the living room, game controller in his hands. He follows her deeper into the house in to he kitchen where she picks a corded phone up off the counter. It's small and cramped, the oven, sink and dishwasher all shoved together against one wall and the fridge on the other side of the room. Not enough counter space, not enough cupboards.

“I told you he's doing alright,” it's said with the tone of a joke but there's a bit there, “Let me know if you hear from dad, right? I know. I will. I love you too, Pop-pop,” hanging the phone back on the cradle.

“I'm sorry. This all fucking sucks,” what else is there to say?

She nods, “I'll get my shoes and my purse.”

Harley-Jane doesn't fuck around in the grocery store. He's impressed. She knows where everything is, she knows what she needs, she's in, she's out and they're back in the car on the way to the house. She's got a small notebook in her hand and a small pen that seems ridiculously too small to actually use. There's only one thing it can be as she starts sorting through the receipt. Was that what will was going to tell him? It wouldn't at all be surprising to find out they had money troubles, especially when her dad had drank away half the life insurance and disappeared with what she hadn't managed to fight away from him. He doesn't say shit, it's the last thing he'd want someone to bring up with him and he won't with her.

But she's scared, he doesn't like it.

They arrive to a house devoid of boys who are happy to take advantage of how overwhelmed their older sister was. At least they left notes, it was better than either of them had been in their youth. He puts way the obvious as she does the not so obvious. A bag the goes upstairs for the bathroom and the boys' rooms, another in the laundry room. She offers him one of the beers they'd picked up and has one herself.

“Got the night off, huh?” taking a long gulp and leaning back against the wall as she did the same at the counter across from him, “What does a girl like Harley-Jane do with a night off?”

She looked up at the ceiling, honestly trying to think of an answer, before meeting his eyes, “Laundry. Clean the house. Try to have a house good enough social services won't take the boys away,” there's a sense of panic in the words he hasn't heard from her before, she calms it with beer, swallowing down the last of the can.

“Whoa there, kid,” he laughed, stepping forward and dropping his can on the counter, “You're doing fine, you're making it work. Calm down.”

He's close, close enough to touch her, “No woman has ever calmed down because a man told her too.”

“You sure about that?” she nodded, “Dammit, guess I'm gonna need a different approach.”

She'd open her mouth, no doubt with a pithy come back that would've made him want to kiss her more than he already did. But he wouldn't get the chance to find out. He surged forward, trapping her between the counter and the hard expanse of his body. He's got a hand in her hair, the other wraps around her waist, holding her up as he lowered his lips to hers. It was soft, softer than any kiss he'd had in his adult life. She presses back softly for just a moment.

“You,” her lips barely pulled from his, “You shouldn't do that.”

“Who you trying to convince, kid?” he counters, tugging lightly on her hair.

Her breath stutters against his lips. There is nothing soft about the kiss that follows. Sealing his lips to hers, tongue darting between her eager lips, small hands grip his bicep, trying to stay upright on unsteady ground. Negan smirks against her lips and in return her teeth tug hard at his lower lip, her nails bite into his skin through the material of his Henley. It isn't hard, lifting her enough so she could slide her ass onto the counter, legs parting to pull him closer. Her skins warm, sliding over the curve of his shoulder, under the edge of it's collar. Her soft hand pressed to his shoulder blade, he wanted her. Right here, right now, right on the fucking counter. He rips his lips from hers and she searches for them with eyes closed on instinct.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he groans and her eyes snap open, “I'm a bad, bad man.”

She laughs, well, more she gives an amused snort, using her thumb to wipe what was left of tinted lip gloss from his lip, “I don't think so.”

*****

It's dark now, which means it's been more than several hours. Which is quite frankly, fucking ridiculous. There was a point where this stopped being cute and it was starting to be right around now. Climbing to his feet he knocked on the door with no answer.

“Little Miss Harley-Jane,” he sang with no response, “You're making this harder than it needs to be,” there's silence.

There's a pit in his stomach, that same pit he'd had leaving her house for the last time. She's gone. He doesn't think, just steps back and aims. It's a flimsy door and it gives way easily under his heavy boot. She shoots up in the cot, looking wild with an uncontrolled mass umber tangles. All he can see is her eyes, rimmed red and ever so slightly swollen.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” shouting as she climbed from the bed, still wearing her clothes.

Negan's starting to realize this might not have been a tantrum, “I thought you were gone,” maybe it had been a full fucking break down, “You don't want me breaking down doors maybe fucking answer 'em.”

“I was asleep,” though it seemed to be more of a realization then a counter argument, “Well, I'm here, alright.”

“No you're not,” he shook his head, closing the mangled door best he could behind him, “You're off somewhere else.”

Adrenaline has left her bad and she sits down hard on the cot, the metal shakes and strains under the sudden pressure, “Why? Why are you so desperate to do this?” her exhale is heavy, she's tired.

She's so tired of it all. Of running and barely surviving every day. Tired of pretending like she doesn't want him when all she wants is to fall into him. He's King of The Castle and there's no worrying here. She's safe and sound. It's just all too good to be true. They did a fucked up thing, such a fucked up thing. Then the world went to shit and somehow they were allowed to be happy? It was a trick if she'd ever seen one. At least it felt that way. She'd lose herself in him all over again and he'd never be hers completely. Harley-Jane knew, she fucking knew, that if it happened again she wasn't gonna make it out alive. One way or another, it'd destroy her once and for all.

There's hundreds of cocky answers. Dozens of serious ones. It would be so easy to do, re-imagine their pecking order. But he'd never be able to keep it up. He'd missed his chance to really change anything with Lucille. The world had saw fit to give him another chance and he wasn't going to fuck it up. And he wasn't going to let her do that either. He rested his girl against the door frame, yanking off his glove and scarf. She can't bring herself to look up at him, they both know why. She's going to say yes, it isn't an if, it's a when. It's a how. He tosses his jacket across the make shift coffee table made of milk crates and a slab of wood.

“What'd I say that first time in the kitchen?” her chin twitches, “What did I say?”

******

Releasing his tight hold on the back of her head, to hold her cheek in his hand, he ran his lips along the curve of her hairline, deeply breathing in the natural perfume of her, promising to take it to the grave. It's soft, it's tender, it's none of the things she expected of the crass man she'd come to know. It isn't anything she'd managed to conjure up in her imagination, certainly not for lack of trying. She can forget what's happening here, in this dingy kitchen, out of sight of the rest of the world. Both hands trace the plain of his chest, downwards, till they gripped what little extra fabric there was of his shirt at the waist, sighing with contentment at the sensation of newly allowed affection.

“Everything's gonna be okay,” his lips against her lobe, the words a low whisper that sent goosebumps across her skin, “I'm gonna take care of you, alright?”

The word caught in her throat and it took a few tries to stutter it out, “ _Alright_.”

*****

He crouched in front of her, his curled forefinger pressed under her chin, forcing her gaze to his, “This really the hill you wanna die on, kid?” there's that looks he knows so well, when spite takes over her common sense, “How about this? You tell me what's really going on because I know it isn't the girls,” if she snapped her fingers he'd send them all packing, he'll never say it, he won't give her the satisfaction of that kind of power, at least not yet. But she knows, he'd told her a thousand times before he'd do whatever she asked. She just hadn't realized how much he'd meant it.

She followed him with her eyes as he sat next to her, really testing the limits of the military grade canvas and metal, “I can't go through that again,” shaking her head, “The world fucking ended and I still couldn't get over it. I can't-”

“That is not gonna happen,” that same voice he'd used with those leaders, the ones who always broke to his whim, “You put that out of your goddamn mind right now, you got it?”

It's an instinct, he couldn't have stopped it if he wanted to. Her hair is still as soft as he remembers, it's easier to hold with so much of it. The slight rat's nest it had become also assisted with the process. Looking at her like he'd just caught her jamming a fork into an electrical outlet. It scared her, not because he'd hurt her, that wasn't the kind of man Negan was. But because it meant he was serious, the time for jokes and dancing around was over. Harley-Jane could either say what she meant or he could lock her up for real until she felt like being straight with him.

“I don't ever want to hurt like that again and you can't promise it won't happen,” she steels her nerves, using all her power to keep her voice even and steady. She wasn't fucking around either, “You can't promise you won't die. You can't promise someone else won't come along-”

He kisses her just like he did all those years ago. Soft and tender, everything they both need in this fucked up world. He should've just done it in the first place and saved them both a lot of pain. But better late than never seemed like an accurate way to describe it. She's still much longer than he'd like, he tugs lightly and it knocks her back into he body. She clammers in his lap, knee on each side of his hips, the metal creaks and groans. His arm wraps around her, hand climbing under the thin fabric of her tank, caging the soft and scarred skin of her ribs with a tight grip. Harley holds his face in her hands, a nail or two digging into his skin, her pinkies chasing the bit more than stubble at the curve of his jaw. The bed jumps, ready to collapse, he surges forward, pressing her into the ugly carpet covering the blood stained wood floor, hovering above her.

It's her who breaks the contact, “Don't-”

“You don't,” he counters, running the tip of his tongue along the curve of her bottom lip, “I'm gonna take care of you. Just tell me what you want.”

She almost doesn't say it, that worry still buried in her, that maybe she'd been wrong, maybe something had changed, “All of you, same thing I always wanted.”

“You got it, kid.”


	3. we make a little history

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a first time for everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more to go guys. here is smut! finally!

A lot of things about the old world Negan might forget the further that all managed to make it but there were a few he wouldn't. An ice cold beer on a hot day, especially if he was coaching a match, how Lucille looked in her wedding dress and how she looked when he'd been to cowardly to grant her pity. But right now, at the forefront of his mind, is the first night he'd managed to talk her out of her better judgment, then her clothes, and talked her into letting him stay the night. All things that went against what little moral high ground she had thought she had. Will's out celebrating a win, she's pretending like she doesn't know what he's doing up there at the quarry but everyone knows what teenagers do up there. Buck says he's at a study group with is friends, she's got a recent report card that proves that wrong but between calling his friends and their parents she can't poke any holes in the story she knows is a lie. They both tell her to wait up, which means they'll try to sneak in not to long after sunrise and try not to wake her, lest they truly be punished. It's like the students thought staff was invisible the second they stopped teaching. She should be at work but Buddy had let it slip that she'd covered two opening shifts for Darlene, which made two doubles, and had been given the coveted weekend off. Her tips would suffer but her over time wouldn't. He sips his drink slowly, trying not to look to eager, and steps off to the men's room once he's finished.

He passes Don, his wife Julie did some volunteer work with Lucille. The more places you looked, the more lines that criss crossed around this town. It's exactly why he'd always driven out of town, wasn't it? Less roads back to him, the few times it might have been a worry had been false alarms brought on by whiskey and lipstick. He turns on the tap, wetting his hands and running them across his face, the back of his neck. He catches his own eyes in the mirror when he flicks them off, there's no question what he's going to do next. An even worse thing for them all. He pays his tab, making an excuse about the ol' ball and chain dragging him back home. He kicks it the wrong way down the road and hopes Buddy doesn't notice, he hadn't noticed all these years and this didn't seem like the time he'd start. He pulls to a stop outside the familiar house, he hadn't been here in almost a week, not since their dalliance on the counter. There's enough booze in him to prop up his adrenaline and the belief this is a good idea.

The windows are dim, not dark, but someone doesn't want to be disturbed. He watches the curtain in the living room drop, and sway as he hopped out of the car. It shouldn't shoot him full of pride but Negan had told her himself; _I'm a bad, bad man_. He hurries up the walk, he's cocky not an idiot. Ducking onto the porch twisted with enough ivy the roof was starting to slope but right now provided the perfect cover.

He knocked hard on the wood, the sound echoes, there's the small sounds of someone trying to be quiet, “ _Harley-,_ ” he sang quietly, rapping his knuckles against the door once again, “ _Harley-Jane, let me in_ ,” the makeshift curtain that covered the high window on the door lifted and he saw eyes peek over the edge, he can picture her on her tip toes. He knocks hard, she jumps, he can hear the harsh sound of feat stumbling to catch herself on the other side, “Don't make me huff and puff, kid.”

“You are so cliché,” she shoots back, he can't see her but he knows she's thinking about it. She has her fingers poised on the deadbolt, “We shouldn't do this.”

“Then let's talk about it,” it's a line, he doesn't mean and he should feel bad about it, later he will. He'll apologize in so many ways, she forgets about it till it's over, “You and I can't talk anymore?”

It's a low blow that does exactly what he intended, the heavy sound of the lock clicks, the door opens, “You know that's not what I meant,” stepping to the side so he could step inside, she leans forward, head out the door before she's satisfied and slams it closed. He'll take it, watching her bend ever so slightly in the over-sized black t-shirt with nothing but polka dotted panties underneath, “Just thought some distance-”

“Distance like trading shifts with Darlene?” she shrinks at the sudden words, “Which is why you haven't been letting me take care of you,” not help her, neither of them miss the slip, he doesn't care about it, “You do it so Tommy'd get the parts in faster?” she nods, taking the half step needed to press her back flush against the wood, “Seems like you and I might remember what happened a little differently.”

“I just don't think-”

“Then don't,” he works his arms out of his jacket, tossing it over the banister, “You're not married, you didn't make any vows,” she's not pressed away because she's scared of him, “That's my shit to worry about,” she doesn't trust herself and that's something he can work with, “You've got bigger problems to worry about,” running his tongue across his lips as he winked.

“Nope, I think wanting to fuck my married high school gym teacher is pretty much top of the list,” it's banter he knows so well, she's got the words, but the tone doesn't match. She's fighting so hard and he really is proud of her.

“I'm sorry?” but he's going to take a certain pleasure in shattering all that, clearly, well practiced self control, “I only heard that you want to _fuck_ me,” using her own slip of the tongue against her, rolling it around his. He watches her bite her bottom lip, “Something you wanted to say?” looming over her, hand pressed against the door.

He's a bad man who knows exactly what he's doing, “Aw, fuck.”

“Aw fuck is right, kid,” he chuckled before he ducked his head.

***

He woulda had her right there on the floor if she'd let him but there this was the hill she was determined to die on. It's not an idea he enjoys, it involves a lot of working out, increases, expectations as he faded his harem out and Harley-Jane in. It takes him two days to figure out the logistics and another three to implement. But he does, he's figured it out and everyone is at least half way happy. Except her, who better be fucking ecstatic about all the work he was putting into trying to wriggle her out of those tight pants again. Which he would be more than happy to figure out if he could find her. It's too sloppy to be on purpose but not disorganized enough to be a complete accident. No one knows where she is to start with, that's the first bump in the road. Last time Fat Joey saw, which was before noon mind you, she was monkey climbing her way up the side of the building and hadn't given him a real answer of what she was doing.

“Prettiest bird I've ever gotten,” and he couldn't help but agree with him, it was better than what anyone else had, he'll let it slid. Not next time though, he makes that perfectly clear.

He's got no other choice then to go about business as usual. It should distract him, it should keep the woman at bay, but she'd always been a damn anomaly.

***  
Somewhere between dipping to kiss her and the actual meeting of their lips, just had grabbed all the power from him. He didn't have time to be pleased with him at the quick change of heart. It's quick, before she's tugging on his bottom lip, keeping a minuscule yet agonizing distance between them, “None of those other women,” it's an order, he gasps some mangled agreement, “ _Promise me._ ”

It's heavy in the air, it's not just this, it has a whole host of meanings. Some he's sure they haven't thought of yet, “You let me take care of you and I'll do whatever you say,” it's more than she's asked, deliberately so.

Her knee begins to trace up his thigh, his hands cage hers quickly, moving her legs around his hips with much assistance from the door. She's the one pressing down on him, devouring him soul and all, he's more than happy to hand every last bit of it over. She has his shirt pushed up under his armpits in an instant, they part for just a second, but a frustrated growl falls from her lips at the separation and when they meet again she tugs hard on his bottom lip.

“Don't go making promises you can't keep,” she drops her head back against the door with dreamy eyes and ever so swollen lips, “Fuck you're beautiful.”

“Upstairs,” easing her legs slowly from around him and as much as it pains him he let's go, still looming over her, “What?” a big damn grin on his face.

“You're a damn treasure, you now that right?' running his finger down the curve of her cheek.

She ducked under his arm, swung around the banister, and was half way up the stairs before he'd caught on. The head start wouldn't do much, still just as fast as ever, with a bigger stride and a much longer grip. She'd just burst through her door, the act of getting it open giving him the time needed to catch up and wrap his arms tightly around her waist, leaning down to bury is face in the curve of her neck. He might have entertained the thought of moving his fingers across her ribs, getting some sort of equally childish pay back for the game of tag he'd forced himself into. It's old, an antique she must've found tucked in the back of the vintage store. Gilded in gold, reflecting almost the entire room from we're it rested against the corner by the window.

“You know, I've just had myself an interesting idea,” kicking the door closed, his boot one thump, wood against wood the next, “You keep your eyes on that mirror,” she opened her mouth and he caught her eyes in the reflective surface, that beautiful amber he was sure he'd started to dream about by now, “I want the best view in the house,” keeping one arm around her waist.

She nodded, there was no arguing with him. Not her, now, like this. Eyes so dark and pupils so blown she was sure they were black, “What're you gonna do to me?” there's something underlying in it, some question for later she hadn't meant to ask but flew around the air, buzzing like a bug.

“All kinds of dirty things,” placing his lips in the curve of her neck, he'd pay for the awkward angle later.

****

The sun has set, the last bits of purple fading from the sky, when she walks into his room. He would say barged but she hadn't. Just opened the door as he looked up from the ledger, glasses resting on the tip of his nose, far more interested in this fresh hell. She doesn't look at him, just steps across the room, sitting on the edge of his bed and beginning to take apart her carefully constructed persona. Boots, socks, over shirt, _knives_. Till she's just sitting there in her jeans and a tank top that almost puts on display her lack of bra, hands gripping the blankets that wrapped around the edges tightly. She's got a tighter grip on that plump bottom lip with her teeth. He sighed, closing the ledger and dropping it with a loud thud for her benefit, glasses off next, perched on the cover. She's been outta sight but definitely not out of mind for 5 days and she expects flack, no doubt she's got a pithy retort on her tongue that is applicable to ninety percent of what he might say. But there's a reason she's stayed gone this long, there's always a reason when she does it.

Harley-Jane doesn't open her mouth though like she used to. The end of the world's made her a bit more stoic than expected, thinking twice as hard as she used to, which wasn't no small amount to start with. She stands up on bare feet, hands tucking underneath the long length of the tank top to yank at the buttons of her jeans. He sits up straight in the chair, watching one, two, and a third button fly open. She tucks her thumbs into a belt loop on each hip, tugging them down to her ankles before yanking it from each of them. There's new scars, more of them than she deserved, and he'll find a whole lot more of them.

***  
When he's sure she's going to stay still, feet firmly planted he drags his hands across her hips, down her thighs till he can gather the bottom of the over sized t-shirt in his hands. Negan moves it slowly and deliberately up her body, he doesn't want to forget a second of unwrapping this present. The tops of each perfect thigh come into view, the beginning glows of a tan now that the sun has firmly planted itself back in their little towns lives for a few months. Higher up than those shorts he's coming to know so well, he can just picture her lounging around outside in the tiniest bikini, another thing added to his list of things he will need to see before he dies. The front of polka dot panties come into view, blots of red across black. Her breath quivers when his knuckles skate the cloth covered just of her hip and stops when they make their way up the curve of her waist. Shades of black, gray, and flesh come into view, his lips twist into a grin against her skin. She finally takes a breath, a deep shuddering thing that shakes her whole body it seems. Vines of ivy shaded with all manner of flowers bloom between her breasts and beneath the curve of each one. It's nothing he expects to see, he drags his lips up her neck, breath flicking the shell of her ear.

“Look at you,” her arms lift slowly as he drags the fabric higher and higher, finally tossing it away from them both, “You ever really looked at yourself, kid?”

He watches her watching his hands, he returns one to her waist, hauling her against him till she stood on tip toes. Body stretched in a way that the dim lamplight seemed to make glow. His finger tips skitter along the ink, first beneath breasts that could barely be a handful each peaked with what he could only describe as chocolate kisses that had begun to strain at his wandering touch. Slowly he moved them along the flat, boney ridge between them. Sweat begins to prickle across her skin, she tries so hard to calm her breathing, but he can feel her heart jack hammering just beneath his touch. He moves his hand higher and higher, till he's holding her chin in his hand. She's so pliable in his arms, eager and curious, all at the same time.

“I could do this for fucking hours,” there's no where for her to turn her attention, she's forced to face him completely, “Find every little spot,” that hand on her waist begins to move lower, she stays on her tip toes all the same, “The noises I bet you make,” he releases his grip on her face and she keeps it there too.

He groans, he can't help it, and it gives him one of the most beautiful sights he'd seen in a while. She smiles, a small thing, that's somehow lascivious with the way she manages to bite just the edge of her lip. It's a reminder and he heeds it's warning. The only reason any of this is happening this is way, is because she's letting it. This is no time to get cocky it almost seems to say, the steady feeling of his jeans getting a bit snugger and snugger, turned into a full tightness. Harley-Jane hasn't touched him since they walked in this room and she's got him feeling like a teenager. Her presses his hand against her ribs, hand bending along the curve of her breast and swiping his thumb against the straining bundle of nerves. Her teeth tugged at her whole bottom lip and he's much more jealous than he expected. His other hand finally completing it's journey as it dipped in to the front of her panties as if to volley back.

But it works, he finally gets the sort of reaction he's looking for. Her knees buckle, the sudden sensation and effort from being on her toes an unbalancing combination, she clings to his arm for balance, nails digging into him. He groans, her head wants to loll back, he watches her eyes try to flutter close. Somehow she holds it together, he gives her a lot of credit for that, and it won't go unrewarded. Continuing downward over a crop of soft and well groomed hair before holding her completely in hand. Skin to skin. Brushing his hand once more over her nipple. Her body arches, she might've fallen forward if it weren't for his grip on her.

“Fuuuuck,” it's lost in a breath, whether because she doesn't realize she's done it or she doesn't want him to know, it doesn't matter. He's broken through that stoic facade, “ _Tease_ ,” she couldn't stay quiet now even if she tried.

He definitely didn't want her to try, “Me? I'm the one doing all the work,” relishing in the moisture and heat against his palm, “Not that I mind,” it's an instinct but there's no better feeling than her grinding down into his hand right now, “Especially when it's getting you so worked up,” she mouths the profanity again, it's fucking beautiful, and is right about where is resolve ends too.

He spins her in his arms, his hand never leaving it's new happy home in her panties when he does. She looks up at him, through hooded eyes, perfect breasts heaving in the space between them and brushing the barest tips of her nipples across his heated flesh that threatened to drive them both insane.

She's his now, if he wants her, all he has to do is take her, _all of her_. It's a choice, a choice that changes both their worlds forever, and he'd make it every single fucking time. He doesn't bother with pretense, sliding his middle finger between her folds and to the knuckle into her sopping hole. Her fingers flex against his arms, wanting so bad to dig her nails into his skin and knowing that she shouldn't. It's cute, he appreciates it, but there's no need. Everything's changed now that she's his.

Negan intends to show her how much. Another finger joins the first, she gives in. That's all he needs., leading her back towards the bed as he slid his fingers gently in and out of her, following her natural curve. She stumbles, feet catching in the carpet, his boots laces, until she's able to fall back on the mattress.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” practically shredding the fabric so he could finally see behind the curtain, “ _Jesus fucking Christ!_ ”

Watching just his fingers in her, the way her body rocked against them, her eyes still on him. None of that shameful closing he'd seen so many times before or some shitty attempt to replicate porn, she wants to see him. In her, around her, from down the fucking block, it doesn't matter as long as she's looking at him. She's so wet and she smells so sweet, he grins, diving head first into the buffet. She cries out, body tremoring when he wraps his lips around her aching clit. His fingers, his mouth, the scrape of stubble against her, it's a sudden shock wave through her system. Harley-Jane doesn't remember the climb, just the fall. It's like trying to stay on a bronco, her entire body seeming to move in disconnected thrusts out of instinct, having already found the high they'd been chasing. He presses hard against her pelvis, watching her as he continues his assault on her senses. She falls back to Earth with a pleasant hum, hands reaching down to touch and caress what she can reach of him, he's not done yet. He continues the same speed with his fingers, adding another, tugging lightly on that bundle of nerves with is teeth before dancing symbols even he didn't know across it.

“ _Fuckfuckfuckfuck!_ ” he didn't expect it to happen again so soon, wouldn't it just be the luckiest fucking day if she turned out to be one of those oversensitive girls. His hands speeds up, he's just this side of abusing her clit with his teeth and lips when she comes undone again, “Negan!” it starts as a shout at her peak, falling into a quiet chant, and then simply breathlessness.

He pulls his fingers from her gentle, “You,” sucking one finger into his mouth, “Are,” another, “A” the last one, “Fucking treat,” tongue, lips and chin leaving a sticky trail straight up the center of her torso.

She gasps, arching, every part of her over sensitized and he feels so strongly the urge to tease her, making her cum over and over again until he finally took what they both wanted. But there'd be time for that later, right now he needs her. The taste of her lighting a fire under his ass. He sits up, pulling her with him only to bend her in front of him, eyes face to that mirror.

“I mean it,” he growls, watching the way her pussy seems to bloom for him as she makes herself comfortable on her elbows and knees, “You keep your eyes on that mirror,” yanking open his belt, pulling at his fly, lowering the band of his underwear, “The entire time, baby.”

He drives the point home by driving himself into her, “Jesus fuck Negan!” she does what he says, keeping her eyes ahead, “Give a girl a bit of warning.”

“Couldn't help myself,” it's more of a grunt, slowly sliding out of her.

Evelyn watches those gorgeous eyes move downward, focused on how it looked to be inside of her. It makes her walls flutter as he moves forward, she's never had something so big inside her and even the small movement makes her cry out and her head threaten to falls forward. One large hand grabs her hip, giving him leverage to increase the speed and strength of his thrusts. All she can do is moan, scream while she watches him make her come undone. His other hand slides over her side, through the scattering of pubic hair, before pressing his finger into her clit.

Her body thrusts forward, “Don't you fucking dare,” his eyes back on her, “Don't you even think of looking away,” his voice heavy with lust, as if he's one step away from losing control.

It's so hard, everything seems so difficult and she just wants to fall into the sensation. So she does, pushing back against him. Trading the mirror to look over her shoulder.

“I like this better.”

That seemed to be his own undoing. His thrusts coming faster, his finger moving against her. It's amazing she's not a blubbering mess, especially once her orgasm ripped through her. She fell forward, eyes on his as he pounded into her like a mad man. Every nerve a light, his cock brushing them over and over, till she wasn't sure where each peak ended and began. Just at some point he roared, an actual roar, as hot cum splattered across her back.

“Fuck kid,” he panted, collapsing next to her, “I don't know what I'm gonna do with you.”

***  
The tank top comes next. Only then does she approach him, not shaky, not confident, “I'm yours. Just like I said.”

He runs his hand along a jagged scar across her belly, another beneath the curve of her right breast, “Nah, kid,” grabbing her around the middle and hauling her into his lap, “I'm yous. Like I shoulda been this whole fucking time.”


End file.
